


you'll learn

by civillove



Series: plans wrapped in rubber bands [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Protective Beth, Soft Rio (Good Girls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: request by 'ijustcantdecidewhichonesbest' on tumblr:  So I was reading 'Solving Problems' and Beth says she can't shoot someone, but what if she does to save Rio?--Beth bites the inside of her cheek on a comment that sounds a lot like you’re learning before saying something more important: “Errands for what?”His statement about being partners is almost completely erased by the next thing that comes out of his mouth, “Oh I got a bake sale comin’ up,” He sets his chin in the palm of his hand as he looks up at her, condescending in a way that he nearly flutters his eyelashes. “Lots of supplies to get.” Another way of him saying that none of it’s her business.





	you'll learn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to 'Solving Problems' - https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566665 which is not necessary to read first but it helps build context!

\--

_Now it’s her turn to scoff, “I can barely shoot straight.” Her aim isn’t terrible but it isn’t great. He’s taught her how to take apart a gun, how to shoot, but a gun still feels foreign in her hands. Too heavy. Too metallic._

_He closes the first aid kit, a patient breath of air exhaling from his nose. “You’ll learn.”_

_“I can’t kill someone.” Beth rephrases, because that’s what he’s looking for, right? That’s what he wants from her? To open up that dark chapter and not be able to close it?_

_He holds her gaze, both of his hands cupping her injured one like a small bird. “You’ll learn.” He repeats._

\--

It’s been a few weeks since Dean has taken her kids and the silence of the house on most nights is enough to drive her insane. She has Ruby and Annie over often just to fill up the gaping blackness that seems to want to wash over her whenever she lets her guard down. She’s tried reasoning with him, to convince him that even though what she does is dangerous it’s _important._

Not only to her and who she’s become but to their family. There was a reason this all started in the first place—they were barely making it through with Dean’s debts and betrayals and while Beth takes some responsibility for how this began, she takes _every_ line of credit for them not drowning.

Because they would have.

She has nightmares sometimes about water that comes up to her throat, just over her mouth, sometimes trailing into her nose and she can’t _breathe._ That’s what living with Dean is like sometimes, that’s how not being able to provide for her family makes her feel.

She doesn’t regret anything, even though it’s led her here and when she asks herself if she’d do it all again?

Beth thinks she would. She closes her eyes a moment and pauses while digging into her purse for her house keys.

She knows she would.

She can’t find her damn keys. Beth pulls the one strap off her shoulder and looks inside her bag, which somehow resembles a cavernous black hole at the prospect of locating what she needs. She should probably clean some of this out—planners, extra wipes for her kid’s hands, highlighters, pens, odds and end makeup, her wallet and phone…

A gun, safety on.

Beth closes her eyes a moment. She doesn’t want to carry it; it’s not even registered to her, serial numbers scratched off and the metal warm when Rio had put it into her hands.

_“I don’t want this.”_

_“You need it.” He insists, his eyes holding her gaze. “Boss bitches pack heat.” He was teasing her as he drags two quick fingers under her chin as if to lift her face so that she’s not staring at the weapon in her grasp._

_Beth feels antsy just from holding it. She doesn’t want this thing in her house, on her person, near her kids._

_Rio grabs it suddenly, forcing her hands to hold the gun and presses the barrel of it against his chest. She squirms and makes a noise of protest, which he quickly shushes, his one arm holding the gun as his other strokes down her arm._

_“It’s only dangerous if you point it at someone, yeah?”_

A car pulls up behind her, inching along the sidewalk, something black and sleek out of the corner of her eye and interrupts her thoughts. She knows who it is before she has a chance to turn and look over her shoulder, can feel his gaze burrow into her back and stay there. An unwanted heat crawls over his skin, makes a shiver run down her spine and when she finally turns around, hands still in her purse, her eyes meet Rio’s.

“You know, you should really have your keys in your hand before you get out of your car. Anyone can just drive up.”

There’s a smirk dancing on his lips at his own personal joke and she considers throwing her house keys at his face just for a moment before she remembers what happened the _last_ time she threw keys at him. She’d surprised him, for sure, but the tight rope of tolerant and pissed off that he walks consistently with her is not something she’s willing to test today.

“If you’re going to drive around stalking people all day, you should consider joining some sort of neighborhood watch.” Beth comments as she approaches the car, keys forgotten in her purse, arms hanging loosely down by her sides.

Rio lets out a soft laugh, his one hand still on the wheel as he looks out the front window. “Funny.”

She _almost_ says that he probably wouldn’t have time with that, seeing as how he’s always keeping an eye on _her_ but once again something steels her back—the commentary isn’t worth his reaction.

“Get in.” He looks up at her, pausing a moment before reaching across the car and opening up the passenger door.

Beth hesitates even though there really isn’t a choice here, she knows that she has to get in the car. It doesn’t matter if Ruby and Annie will be there any minute, there’s a no-nonsense look pooling in Rio’s eyes and the muscles of his jaw are tensing in a way where she knows he’ll argue with her if that’s what it takes.

Before she can say anything, he reiterates by saying, “I ain’t askin’.”

She’s feels a bone-deep exhaustion wash over her frame, her hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. In the end, she’s too tired to argue, too tired with everything that’s going on in her life to fight with him. As she climbs into the car, closing the passenger door, she hates that she feels like she’s given him some sort of advantage.

Rio says nothing, the engine purring softly under the hood as they pull away from her house. It’s in the silence of the car that she realizes that she’s never been inside it before; always seen him against it, watching her, or across the street from the playground. The leather of the seats are black and cool against her skin and the interior smells brand new even though she’s sure it isn’t.

Her eyes trail over the console before landing on the driver, dressed in a typical fashion that she should be used to by now. Dark jeans and a button-down navy shirt, clasped right to his neck, covered by a jacket. It somehow brings out a soft hue to his bird tattoo on his throat and she has to physically restrain herself from doing something stupid like reaching out and trailing the feathers.

If he feels her gaze, he never lets on that does. Instead, he leans further back into his seat and licks his lips. He’s wearing a beanie today that’s pulled just over his ears and Beth waits for him to start talking, to tell her why he made her get into this car but he never does.

“Don’t you own any lighter colors?”

The question must surprise him because he laughs, “Why you suddenly so interested in what I wear?”

She feels blush kiss her cheeks and splotch down her neck, which is clearly the reaction he wants, because when Rio looks at her his gaze trails the soft pink down her throat and bites on his bottom lip.

Beth doesn’t respond, instead he leans back against the leather like it might swallow her whole. She runs a hand over her face, glancing outside the window for anything to do other than look at Rio. She doesn’t know where they’re going but they drive for a while, suburbia melting into downtown Detroit and something uncomfortable crawls under her skin and festers.

“How’s your hand?”

She looks over at him and down at her hands on her lap, her thumb worrying against the palm that she’d cut on glass shards a few nights ago. It’s sore but he’d taken good care of her, cleaning the wounds with calm, patient fingers; she can still feel his touch on the outside of her hand if she thinks about it long enough.

“Still works.”

He smirks a little, fingers squeezing the steering wheel as he turns at a red light. “Good to know.”

How does he _do_ that? How does anything that comes out of his mouth end up sounding like he’s pushing her against that bathroom wall again, lips assaulting her neck, hands traveling over her navel before he slips inside her. Saying everything yet saying nothing, inviting her with his eyes.

The way she feels about him is absolutely infuriating; she often feels backed into some sort of corner, his body encroaching on her own, pressured and _heated_ and suffocating with how addicting it is that she keeps coming back.

Regardless of what he asks her to do—it doesn’t matter. Wash cash, bring sheets over the border, drive a truck, shoot a gun, handle a rotten egg; she’ll do it. She’ll do it because she’s never felt anything like this before.

Which brings her to—“What are we doing?”

“What would you like to do?” He asks, his eyes slipping to her lap as he pauses at another red light. He angles his body towards hers, almost like he’s ready to do whatever she asks and she fidgets for a full moment before fixing him with an unamused look.

“Is this some sort of drop?”

“Errands.” Rio taps his thumb against the steering wheel. “And before I have to sit through another lecture about us being partners, I figured I’d just bring you with me.”

Beth bites the inside of her cheek on a comment that sounds a lot like _you’re learning_ before saying something more important: “Errands for what?”

His statement about being partners is almost completely erased by the next thing that comes out of his mouth, “Oh I got a bake sale comin’ up,” He sets his chin in the palm of his hand as he looks up at her, condescending in a way that he nearly flutters his eyelashes. “Lots of supplies to get.” Another way of him saying that none of it’s her business.

She narrows her eyes, frustration popping under her skin at the secrecy, “And by bake sale, you mean…”

Rio just snorts and pulls the car over and puts it into park. Before Beth can ask more clarifying, and most likely aggravating, questions another car pulls up and a guy gets out. He’s short, African American, bulky with his body littered with tattoos peeking out from a short sleeved white t-shirt. She finds it odd that he’s not even wearing a jacket in weather like this; while it’s not frigid there’s still a chill to the air, enough that Rio has a beanie on and heavier black jean jacket over his button down.

“Stay here.”

She bristles. “You brought me along just to _keep me in the car?”_

He looks over at her, amusement almost tugging on his lips as he opens the car door. “Nah, you get to observe. You wanna be a badass?” He doesn’t wait for her response, “Then you gotta put the work in.”

“If I’m just here to observe, why didn’t you get Ruby or Annie?” She presses, almost wants to hear him say it.

Rio pauses, his hand still on the door, “I suppose I could of, but neither of them would have looked as good as you do in my passenger seat.”

There’s a careful clock of her body with his eyes, somehow brushing over her legs and chest inone fluid motion before he’s gone out of the car. She shakes her head, a frustrated noise leaving her lips as she leans back into the seat to get more comfortable.

What can she really observe from _inside_ the car?

Beth can barely make out what Rio is saying as he rounds his client, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. They obviously greet one another, exchange a few things, Rio’s front facing the car and the only thing she does find herself noticing is how his demeanor has changed.

His body is rigid, all straight lines and it’s…it’s very different than how he holds himself in front of her. There’s not a softness to his frame, he’s not relaxed or comfortable or _warm._ It’s then she suddenly realizes how so much of his body language says to her, open and inviting in a way that speaks beyond business. She wonders if it’s because of that night in the bar bathroom but, no, it’s always been like that, his body hovering so close to her own; mirror images.

His face however, that careful, cold, indifference is the same. Beth wonders if that’s a mask Rio has trouble pulling off.

She licks her lips, her knee hitting her purse that she’s settled on the floor and wonders if she should check her phone for messages from Annie or Ruby—she’s sure they’re probably worried that she isn’t at her house and not answering her phone but it’s probably bad taste to be texting when Rio expects her to be observing.

Then again, how long is she supposed to just sit here while Rio handles business without her? She lets out a long breath out of her lips which causes her bangs to flutter on her forehead. She’s about to say _fuck it_ and reach inside her purse when something changes about the way Rio is standing.

His hands come up and out of his pockets and hang loosely by his side, the muscle in his jaw tightening, something she can see even through tinted windows several feet away.

Something’s wrong.

And then she sees it, the shine of metal from a weapon, a gun? a knife? inching forward towards Rio’s chest. A breath skitters into her lungs, almost ragged because why isn’t Rio _moving?_ Why isn’t he reaching for the golden gun she knows he keeps in the back of his pants? Is it proximity? This guy is close, pressing something metallic against Rio’s sternum and all the while he doesn’t move. His face is unchanging, he actually looks _bored._

Beth doesn’t realize she’s out of the car and across the random lot they’ve pulled into and the safety is _off_ and her hand is shaking as she aims it right at the guy’s back. Rio’s gaze locks onto her—

_“It’s only dangerous if you point it at someone, yeah?”_

The client must sense her, quickly goes to turn, something comes out of his mouth that sounds a lot like ‘you always have your bitch do your dirty work for you?’ but the sentence doesn’t end because there’s a resounding _bang._

And smoke curling out of her gun.

There’s a ringing in her ears as the client, no a _man,_ she shot a _man,_ tumbles to the ground and she feels herself wanting to drop the gun but it feels melted into her skin, hot and burning and out of the corner of her eye Rio takes a step towards her.

She lifts the gun out of instinct, pointing it at him, making him stop in his tracks. His one hand goes up, gently touching the top of the gun.

“Give it to me.” Rio says gently, his eyes never leaving hers. His voice sounds thick, like her ears are stuffed with cotton. Her gaze falls to the man on the ground, unmoving, _is he dead?_ “Don’t look at him, look at me, darlin’.” He waits until she does, “Good, it’s okay. You’re good, yeah?”

And when she nods, he takes the gun from her, putting the safety back on and quickly pressing her towards the car. Beth almost stumbles backwards at his insistence, her eyes still managing to find the man on the pavement, blood pooling around him.

Rio isn’t gentle; he pushes her into the passenger seat and shuts the door, the moment his body hits the driver’s seat the car skids out of the lot and down the street.

“But he…” Beth isn’t really sure what she’s trying to say, the words getting caught in her throat.

“I’ll take care of it.” Rio says, glancing into his rearview mirror before settling back into his seat, her gun on his lap as he drives.

She really hates when he says that and she _means_ for that to come out of her mouth but instead a hysterical laugh leaves her throat instead, claws its way out and she doesn’t have time to stop it. Her hand covers her lips and she leans down, incredibly dizzy, trying to right herself and stop the world from spinning.  

She’s going to be sick.

“Don’t lose it on me now, mami, we’re almost there.” His hand falls to her back, a warm support pressing into her spine.

Beth wants to ask where they’re headed because she can’t go home, not right now, not like this but when he puts the car into park she knows they’re nowhere near her house. She doesn’t realize Rio’s gotten out of the car until he’s opening the door for her, scooping her up and flush against his side as they walk towards a motel room.

They’re at a fucking motel.

Her stomach jerks in her midsection and she has to physically grab onto Rio’s arm so that she doesn’t vomit onto the pavement. His touch is warm and grounding as he hustles her into a room that he already has a key for, throwing it onto the table near a window as he closes the door with his foot.

When she’s in the room she makes a break for the bathroom, practically tripping over her own feet to get there and hoists the toilet seat up before her stomach betrays her. She doesn’t vomit so much as dry heave, a cold sweat breaking out along the back of her neck and forehead.

Rio slips down beside her in the bathroom, his hand once again finding her shoulder blades and spine. She sputters at the sensation, gobbling air into her lungs like it might escape from this tiny bathroom to leave her suffocating. Her hands grip the porcelain sides of the toilet and luckily she’s far too sick to even _think_ about the fact that this bathroom is probably disgusting and not up to her standards of cleanliness.

“That’s it, just try and breathe.” His voice is almost too soft in this small space and when she feels confident enough that she’s not going to throw up, she leans back and away from the toilet, her back hitting the sink.

A soft sigh leaves Rio’s lips and he moves to take the beanie off his head and toss it to the side, unbuttoning his black jean jacket, fingers careful and slow like he knows any quick movements might startle her. She chews so hard on her bottom lip that it feels like she might crack the skin open; she tastes metal.

He stands and leaves the room for a few moments, returning with a small bottle of vodka from a mini-fridge.

“Drink this.” He says, unscrewing the cap. Beth shakes her head but he’s pressing it into her palm. “Really, you’ll feel better.”

The sensation to laugh once again clambers inside her chest but she doesn’t, instead just doing as she’s told and tips the bottle back into her mouth. The vodka burns her tongue and throat and she coughs suddenly, the back of her wrist resting against her lips. It takes a few moments, Beth pressed back against the sink and Rio kneeling down in front of her, watching her carefully, but he’s right. The vodka helps, the room stops spinning and she doesn’t feel like she’s violently shaking anymore.

He lets her take her time, which she greatly appreciates, because after the vodka is gone she doesn’t know what to say or do. Beth tries to take one moment at a time and finally says something she wants: “I need to get up off this floor.” Her voice is higher than it should be.

Rio hums under his breath, “And here I thought you had a thing for seedy bathrooms.” It’s not a well-placed joke and she’s not sure why he says it, because she’s not smiling. But he does reach forward and help her, grasps her by her arms and slowly brings her to stand.

When she trusts her legs to move her, she walks into the main part of the motel room, sinking onto the corner of the bed as she hears Rio fuss around in the bathroom. She swallows and glances down at herself and…expects to see blood?

But there’s nothing; no blow back, no evidence whatsoever that she shot a man. Almost like it didn’t happen even though she _knows_ it did. Her hand still feels heavy from holding the gun, the ringing diminished but not gone from her ears.

When Rio comes out of the bathroom he’s taking his jean jacket off, tossing it to the side and unzipping a black duffle that’s near the TV. This room…it’s something he prepares for. Somewhere he can come if something goes sideways, comfort in anonymity.

“Do you wanna go home?” He asks but doesn’t look at her, digging through his bag for another small bottle of vodka for himself.

She shakes her head no even though he can’t see her and begins to worry her thumb against her palm again, scratching open a few scabs that have healed. Beth opens and closes her mouth on a lot of sentences before she finally settles on: “Who was he?”

Rio sighs, long and almost exhausted sounding, “Don’t.” His voice is a little hoarse as he turns to look at her, leaning against the TV stand. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

A choked noise leaves her throat, “Oh am I not supposed to be learning from this?” She asks, her hands beginning to tremble again. She suddenly hot and tears her jacket off from her shoulders, throwing it aside, a simple grey t-shirt underneath. Beth pushes her hair back from her face, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Rio considers her a moment, pausing before he takes the vodka back into his throat with a few swallows and throws the empty bottle towards a trash can that he misses. He grabs a chair from the table near the door and positions it in front of her, sitting with his elbows on his knees.

“What you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to tell you? That he was a criminal? A drug dealer? Would that make you feel any better?” He’s not yelling at her but his voice is firm, calling her out like he always seems to do when she needs to hear real shit through the fog she builds up in her brain.

He tries to grab her chin, to force her to look at him but the action is too quick and too rough and she _slaps_ him across his face, her breathing heavy and labored. Rio’s jaw works, his head cracked to the side and she watches him physically take a long breath, in and out, before he looks at her again.

“Better?”

God, no, she doesn’t _feel_ better. She goes for him again, this time pushing him, pushing his chest, _grabbing_ his shirt to the point where she almost tears the fabric. He lets her. He lets her push and slap and begin to _scream_ because—

 _Yes,_ she wants to hear those things! She wants to hear that if she ended someone’s life that at least it wasn’t someone…God, no she’s _wrong._ She’s wrong and she killed a man and ended his life and it doesn’t matter who he was or what he’s done because he’s _dead._

She stands from the bed and a strangled sob leaves her mouth and she doesn’t realize she’s yelled that last part until Rio is grabbing her wrists to stop her. He clamps down and forces her to sit on his lap despite the fact that she struggles.

Beth succumbs to his touch and the moment she does, that’s when the tears come. They’re big and ugly down her cheeks, her lungs expanding with air that she tries too hard to catch, her hand resting against her chest because it’s almost painful to breathe.

Rio’s hand finds the back of her neck, her hands moving to gather the fabric of his shirt between her fingers, almost in resistance as he draws her into his chest. He holds her there and doesn’t allow her to pull away, his body shifting ever so slightly against the chair to accommodate her against his own.

She’s done this terrible thing—something she thought she’d never do; that she didn’t think she was capable of. Rio seems to read her, as he always does, without her saying anything because he’s cupping both sides of her head into his hands and pulling her back so he can see her face. His thumbs wipe tear tracks and he holds her there for a moment, licking his lips before he speaks.

His voice is soft, almost a heated whisper that burrows into her chest and sleeps between her ribs. “Listen to me, you did what you always do,” He tells her, “What you had to. Alright?”

Beth sniffles, tries to reason, “I could have just…aimed it at him?” She hates the wobbling in her voice, hates how weak it makes her sound. But Rio doesn’t look at her like that. He sees wonder, resilience, a strength that she doesn’t feel. “I didn’t have to—”

“No,” He cuts her off, his hand curling her hair around her ear. “No. You did what you had to.” And there’s something there wrapped in Rio’s voice because…because he’s _thanking_ her, that she’s learned a lesson regardless of her not wanting to.

She did something she never thought she’d do to protect Rio.

Rio’s body is thrumming with heat underneath her own and her hand settles onto his shoulder to, she thinks, push herself up and away but she finds that she doesn’t want to do it. Her chest hurts from unshed sobs but she refuses to cry anymore, her face already red and puffy and she thinks if she starts up again she won’t be able to stop.

His other hand falls from her cheek but he does lean forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, something barely there.

“How am I supposed to…” Beth trails off, the words not coming _live with this_ but Rio knows—of course he knows.

He holds her gaze for a long moment, his one hand resting on top of her one thigh and squeezing as he says: “You’ll learn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's giving my Brio fics a chance, reading, leaving kudos and comments and requests! Much love :)


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